"That a young man from Tonnerre, named Frédérick Gaillardet, has brought me a MS. which has some ideas in it, but he has never had anything to do with the stage; it is not, dramatically speaking, any good as it is. But I have entered into treaty with him because I have my own plans." "Let us hear what they are." "For a long time Janin has wanted to write a drama." "Good!" "I said, 'Here is your excuse ready to hand!' I took my young author's MS. to him." "Next?" "He read it." "And then?" "He agreed with me that there was dramatic material in it. "And that drama ...?" "He has hunted for it for six weeks, and not found it." "Then he has added nothing to the original manuscript." "Indeed, he has rewritten it." "What then?" "It is better written, but no more fit for acting." "So that it has already two authors?" "You need not trouble yourself about Janin." "Why not?" "Because, this morning, he took his own MS. and that of M. Gaillardet in his arms, and flung them on Georges's sofa, saying to me, 'You and your drama there can go to the devil! '" "Then you came to me; thanks!" "What does that matter to you, my friend? Read this." "But I tell you I am very weak. I cannot even read." "I will send Verteuil to you; he will read the piece to you: he reads very well." "Shall I not get into trouble with your young man?" "He is as meek as a lamb, my dear fellow!" "I see, and you wish to shear him?" "There is no talking seriously with you." "Send Verteuil to me." "When?" "When you like." "He shall be here in an hour." "Very well, are you going?" "I have no mind to stay." "Why not?" "You would only have some one to contradict you." "Oh! I do not promise anything." "That is needless, since you are pledged." "To what?" "To deliver me the play in a fortnight." "Harel!" "Take pains over Georges' part." "Harel!" "Good-bye!" Harel was gone. "Oh, the brute!" I muttered, falling back on to my pillow; "he will give me a relapse." An hour later, as Harel had said, Verteuil was in the house. He expected to find me sitting up and convalescent; but he found me in bed, burning with fever, and reduced in weight by twenty-five pounds. I frightened him. "Oh!" he said, "you are not going to work in that state?" "What the deuce do you expect else, my dear fellow, as Harel insists on it!" "No, I will take the MS. away, and tell Mademoiselle Georges that it is impossible, short of killing you." "Is there anything in that MS.?" "Certainly, it has some ideas, but..." "But what?" "Ah! you shall see ... I dare not say." "Then leave it to me; I will read it." "When?" "At my leisure. Is the writing clear, by the way?" "I recopied it myself." "Good!" "I have only brought Janin's version of the MS., to save you as much time as possible."[1] "Is there much difference between the two MSS.?" "What do you mean?" "Structurally?" "It is the same thing, except for one or two tirades added by Janin." "What about the form?"